Pocket Interlude
by dffrum
Summary: Interlude set between episodes "Hello Cruel World" and "The Born Again Identity".


"Pocket Interlude"

The two brothers slipped into the diner, a tinny bell quietly announcing their presence. As Sam shook the raindrops from his shaggy hair, Dean cased the joint with a sharp eye. The diner was tiny – only a handful of tables, all full. Dean jerked his chin once towards the counter with a raised eyebrow to his brother.

"Sure," Sam murmured. "I'm gonna hit the head first."

Dean slid onto the furthest stool from the door. Wall to his back; unobstructed view of the door. Seat was nice. Plush. Navy blue vinyl. Looked good with the black and white checkered tiled floor. He eyed Sam, now stopped halfway down the short hallway to the bathrooms. He was gesturing to a tall skinny waitress. Sam waved his hand vaguely in Dean's direction. She nodded and patted his arm. 'A little too old for you Sammy-boy,' Dean smirked to himself as she turned. A sharp, angular face with high cheekbones, café-o-lait complexion, old fashioned granny-glasses perched on her nose, more than a few strands of silver glinting in her brown hair, caught up in the back with a sloppy bun. Khakis and a navy blue polo shirt to match the décor. Dean slowly spun on the stool, doing a 360 of the diner, assessing all the occupants. Busy stuffing their faces. He noted one cook back in the kitchen, wrapped up in a volumous white apron, banging pans around and singing quietly off-key to himself. As he finished his spin, the waitress was there, right in front of him, across the counter.

"So," Dean cleared his throat, a little surprised at being caught off-guard. "What good around –"

He was cut off as the waitress slide a large mug of coffee toward him. He wrapped cold hands around the mug and gave it an appreciative sniff.

"Thanks, this is…" He took a sip and groaned with pleasure. He stared at the steaming liquid then dipped his head for another, longer sip. "This is damn fine coffee!" He tilted his head up and gave the waitress a boyish grin. "If the rest of the food here is half as good as the coffee, I'm a happy man!"

"Your order's already in," she replied in a low hoarse voice, nodding towards the bathroom hallway, where Sam had gone. "The special."

Sammy wasn't in the habit of ordering for them both, but, hey, it's cool. Dean leaned forward. He couldn't help turning on the charm, just a little. "And…what's today's special?"

The waitress leaned forward, her nearly nonexistent bosom pressing up against the black and white checkered apron and whispered with a saucy grin, "It's a surprise."

Dean snorted and leaned back, taking a gulp of coffee. He barely set the mug down when she topped it off. He nodded his thanks as she wandered back to the kitchen with the carafe. Although small, the place was warm and cozy. He slid off the stool and shucked his coat, hooking it on an empty coat rack tucked in the corner. He hopped back on the stool and gave it another slow spin. Like before, as he completed his circuit, the waitress was back, on her side of the counter. This time she slid a plate with a large waffle in front of him. Each indentation in the waffle cradled a plump blueberry. Dean barked out a delighted laugh. 'Can't remember the last time I had blueberry waffles,' he thought. He carefully poured a small dollop of syrup in a few of the indentations and dug in. They were perfect. Sam slipped onto the stool next to him.

"Fantastic waffles," Dean mumbled with his mouth full. He gestured with his coffee mug. "Thanks."

Sam absently replied, "Thank _you_," as a plate and mug were deposited in front of him by the waitress. "Mmmm, banana pancakes. My fave. Hey, peanut butter 'stead of syrup. The best way to eat pancakes, you know." He hummed quietly to himself as he spread the peanut butter around and layered on the banana slices.

"Of course I know," Dean replied. "That's why we ended up going to IHOP for most of your birthdays until you were like, ten years old." He gave Sam a snide look. "We had to smuggle in the peanut butter. It was embarrassing." The waitress refilled Dean's now empty mug. "This place has the best coffee. A little podunk place like this! Uhmm," he nodded to the waitress. "No offense. It's just…unexpected."

"No offense taken, Dean," she replied with a polite smile, the overhead lights twinkling in her glasses.

Dean paused with the next bite of waffle dripping syrup off his fork. "Sam," he nudged him with an elbow. "How'd you know about the blueberries?"

"Blueberries?"

"Yeah. With the waffles. Mom use to make 'em this way. With one blueberry in each waffle hole. Oh, wait," he put the fork down carefully, "you wouldn't know that Sammy, would you? Mom never had a chance to make you waffles. How'd you know to order blueberry waffles for me?"

"You ordered," Sam's face creased with confusion. "Didn't you order for both of us?"

"I thought you ordered," Dean answered slowly, jerking his head towards the bathroom hallway, "on your way to the john." Dean slid his left hand down to his boot, hooking fingers around the knife hilt. His eyes darted to the right. Sam already had one hand in his coat pocket, gripping his gun. His own coat was too far for the initial confrontation, but he could feint and grab his gun later. He skimmed the rest of the diner for possible collateral damage. He sucked in a surprised breath and his eyes snapped back to the waitress. The place was empty.

"Where are we?" He growled. "What are you?"

She calmly regarded the brothers and carefully, deliberately, placed both hands on the counter, in plain sight, palms down. "Nothing will happen to you. You're safe. Just wanted a private conversation." She nodded to their plates. "Please. Continue with your breakfast. I made your favorites." She addressed Dean, "Just like your mother use to make for you. On special occasions. Each blueberry with its stem down. When you were a child, you use to make jokes about seeing all those blueberry 'butts' waving up in the air."

Dean blanched. "I'm so 'otta here," he declared, getting up from his stool.

"There's nowhere to go."

"Seriously? Come on Sam." He strode over to the door and flung it open, ringing the tinny bell, and stopped short. "There's nothing…" Dean gasped, "Nothing there." He pushed a hand unsuccessfully against the thick white haze that filled the doorway. He whirled around. "Where are we?" He demanded.

"No place. Nowhere on Earth. Not heaven or hell. We're someplace else. Separate from the universe. In between."

Dean stared at her, furious.

Sam shifted his gun to his left hand, picked up his fork and resumed eating.

"Sam!"

He shrugged. "We're obviously not going anywhere. I'm hungry." He shoved another forkful of pancake and banana in his mouth, and said, muffled, "She wants to talk, so let's talk." Sam swallowed and waved his empty fork in the air, encompassing the diner. "We're in, what? Something like a 'pocket universe'. Right?" He turned to Dean with an aside, "It's like a smaller, pinched off bit on the edge of, or inside of, the universe, sorta encapsulated, self-contained mini-universe."

At Dean's look of incredulity, Sam grumbled, "What? We watch the Science channel. PBS." He chased down and stabbed another slice of banana and mumbled, "Neil deGrasse Tyson rocks, man."

Dean snorted, "Maybe to you, brainiac." He settled warily back on his stool. "So we're in your little pimple universe," he addressed the waitress tersely. "Why don't you just give it a squeeze and squirt us back to the real world, 'cause," he shook his head, feigning nonchalance, "I'm getting' a little bored, man."

Sam shot him a disgusted look and mouthed 'pocket'. Dean just rolled his eyes back at him.

The waitress shrugged. "It's a superficial explanation, but close enough. At least it's something you can understand. I wanted a quiet place for us to meet. No interference or interruptions. From anyone or anything."

"OK. I'll bite. What do you want?" demanded Dean.

"The question is more about what you want, Dean."

"Nuh uh. No way." He shook his head sharply. "I don't know who or what you are but I'm not making any deals. No wishes. Tear up any contract you got. Not signing anything. Nothing. Nada." Dean stared at the remains of his waffle, jaw clenched.

"Wouldn't hurt to hear her out, Dean." Sam drained his coffee mug and waggled it hopefully at the waitress.

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Dean bursted out, pounded his clenched fists once on the countertop. "You don't get a say in these particular proceedings Sam, 'cause you're not even here!"

Sam just raised his eyebrows quizzically and raised his now-full mug up to take a sip. "Not here?"

Dean pointed at him accusingly. "You checked yourself into a psycho-ward, remember Sammy. Like you're Humpty-Dumpty." He laughed bitterly. "Trying to put yourself back together again." He turned back to the waitress with a snarl, "What's with imaginary Sam here? You think I wouldn't know what goin' on with my own brother?"

"I'm as real as you make me, Dean." Sam replied quietly. As Dean turned to him in astonishment, he continued. "I'm out of _your_ brain. Your memories. Every detail since the day I was born. And I gotta tell you," Sam shook his head with a grin, "Your sense of who I am… who Sam is…is pretty powerful. May be more solid than the real thing."

"No, no, no! Don't give me that crap," Dean shook his head. "I don't want…this pseudo-Sam. I want the real Sam. Fixed." Dean's voice cracked at the end.

The waitress looked down at her hands, now palms up in front of her, resting on the counter. She glanced up at Dean with a thoughtful look. "Would you have his damage healed? What? The demon taint removed entirely? Sam restored, put back to what he was. Before all this happened. When he was still innocent. Naïve."

"What's the catch?" Dean asked suspiciously. Sam looked at him with a worried look on his face.

"But, is that really what Sam would want?" She continued, ignoring his comment, "You need to think about what this would mean. For you. For Sam." She waved a hand between the two men. "His experiences, skills gained in fighting by your side. And in his particular fight. A very personal fight. Gone. You have to consider, does a victory mean less when a third party intervenes? Saves the day at the last minute?" She tilted her head, her voice deepening further, "Doesn't the experience, the battles, the scars…even the defeats…makes a victory more meaningful?"

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," Sam interjected.

"Please," Dean snarked. "You're channeling Kelly Clarkson now?"

"Nierzsche," Sam sniped back. After a brief pause, he added quietly, "And dad," as he turned back to his plate. He shot a quick look back at Dean, "And I find it frightening that you even know who that is."

"Whatever it takes to get the chicks, man," Dean said with an expansive shrug and a smirk. His smirk faded into a scowl when he turned back to the waitress as she spoke.

"Would it be best to let him put himself back together?"

"What if he can't?" Dean whispered. "What if he. He stays broken?"

"But Dean," She leaned in closer. "What if he can? Win this battle on his own. How would this strengthen him? How will that change how he sees himself? How you see him?"

"If I could defeat Lucifer _mano a mano_ …that'd be…" Sam popped the final piece of banana in his mouth. "That'd be awesome." He swiveled his stool to face Dean, "I'd feel awesome. If I could do that…I could do anything." He pointed at Dean, "You. You would trust me to do anything."

Dean choked up briefly, "I trust you." Then ground out, "Is it worth the risk?" His jaw clenched as he swallowed hard. "Worth the risk of losing you altogether?"

"No pain, no gain, man."

Dean's jaw dropped open, "How can you be so…" He grabbed his fork and stabbed a piece of waffle and hissed, "Bitch."

"Jerk."

He shoveled a few more pieces into his mouth, washed it down with a slug of coffee. Slammed the mug back down on the counter. "OK. Fine. No deals. Are we done now?" Tossed his fork down with a clatter. "Let me out. Of. Here." He eyed the waitress with hostility. "Or do you want me to pump you full of holes?"

"You can't hurt me Dean."

"Yeah," he sneered. "Tell that to the meat suit you're walking around in."

"Despite what you may think, I am neither an angel nor demon. This body of flesh and bone is mine alone. I don't need to borrow, trick or asked permission for a 'suit'." She tilted her head and studied him, "You still think I deceive you." She pulled out a shot glass from under the counter and set it down between the two of them. "Go ahead. Pour me a drink." She tilted her head at Dean. "Holy water in Bobby's old flask. Right?"

Sam snorted, "Thought you were takin' shots of whisky from that flask Dean."

"Gotta cut the whiskey with something, Sam. Might as well be holy water, right?" He pulled the flask from his back pocket and splashed a mouthful in the shot glass. He watched her closely as she dipped a finger in to give it a stir then flicked a few droplets at Dean. She picked up the shot glass and downed the liquid.

"Satisfied?"

"You could be fakin' this whole thing.' Dean replied grudgingly. "This whole setup could be a hallucination. Flask and all. Look," He scrubbed his face with one hand and said tiredly, "You ain't gettin' anything outta me, so just let me go."

"We're not done yet Dean."

Frustrated, he flung out both arms, "What!"

She clasped both hands and leaned forward, eyeglasses shimmering in the overhead lights. "You are disheartened Dean. You've lost your spark. Well," she smiled wryly, "not lost. Misplaced. You are still fighting the fight, not because you want to, or even need to, but because you don't know want else to do. You despair, Dean; I fear that you are gripped with hopelessness."

"Different day, same old crap." He took in a shuddering breath. He glanced over at Sam, who returned it with a sad look. "I've gone solo before. I'll do it again." He stared at a spot in front of him stoically. "It's just a little rough. Sam fighting his demons. Cas goin' all dark side, then…" Dean choked off the rest of his words.

After a moment of silence, Sam interjected quietly, "Do you think there's a chance that Cas will come back?"

Dean shrugged, shoulders slumped, "Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows. Maybe once all those bastard Leviathans are wiped out." He scrubbed his face in his hands.

"After all you've been through, Dean, you still have a glimmer of hope." The waitress moved one hand to a bundle on the edge of the counter. Dean started and thought to himself, 'Where did that come from?' She pushed it forward. His hand lashed out and grabbed the bundle.

"Cas…" he whispered, rubbing the fabric of the neatly folded trench coat, now in front of him on the counter.

"You're hanging onto his trench coat, like some kinda security blanket," Sam said shaking his head.

"I know. Stupid."

"Not stupid Dean, just…" Sam shrugged helplessly.

"A fragment of your soul is missing Dean," the waitress interrupted. She held up her forefinger and thumb, held very close together, "A tiny piece. A splinter really."

Dean's eyes narrowed, "And I suppose you know where it is, huh? This is where the bargain comes in, right?" He shook his head, "I already told you. No deals."

"Like calls to like, Dean."

"What the hell does that mean? Can we just skip the puzzle portion of the evening? Get to the point. Better yet, tell me who you are," he snarled.

She paused for a few moments, taking time to refill both mugs. She whispered, "You abandoned your amulet some time ago, didn't you Dean?" She glanced at Sam. "What you don't realize is that Sam saved it. Fished it out of the trash." She paused while Sam dug through his front pocket and pulled out the amulet.

"Catch." Sam tossed it at Dean.

"What? Ouch!" Dean snatched it out of the air one handed then bobbled it. "Hot!" Tossing it back and forth between both hands a couple of time before dangling it from the cord by a couple of fingers. He tentatively held it in the opposite hand. "It's never gotten hot before," he murmured. He looked up at the waitress with skepticism, "You're kidding me? God? You want me to believe you're God?"

"Of course not. You've had some experience of angels appearing to humans in their true form?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean interrupted. "Eyeballs explode, brains liquefy, yada, yada."

She gave Dean a lopsided grin, "Dean, if God appeared in totality, the entire planet would liquefy. The sun would implode; the whole solar system cast asunder."

"You're just that awesome," Dean snarked back.

She pressed a finger and thumb together. "I am only an essence. A fraction of a percent of what you call God. The totality is beyond your comprehension. Beyond any human's intellectual capacity." She gestured to herself, "Even I can not comprehend the totality of what I am. Not in this form." At Dean snort of disbelief, she continued, "This essence is all that can fit into this custom-made body of flesh and bones. There is a limit to what information can be held in a human brain…the density of neurons, folds of the cortex. Because of that, I have limits in knowledge as well."

"OK, let's say I believe ya," Dean said with suspicion. "How long've you been here anyway? And why?"

"A very long time, by humanity's reckoning. My purpose is primarily observation. Data collection. Performing interim analyses so to speak."

Dean narrowed his eyes, "This, right here, right now, sure don't feel like observing. Feels more like an intervention."

The waitress' features shifted, became more masculine, face rounding, complexion lightening, eyes slanting, hair shortening. It shifted again, face narrowing, skin darkening to mahogany, hair frizzing, curling. The waitress replied is a rich deep voice, "But, nothing wrong with providing a little divine inspiration once and awhile, is there Dean?"

Dean gaped for a moment, "So, what? You're a shapeshifter now?" He recovered and snapped back, "Been there, done that. Killed our share."

"Labeling me a shapeshifter is _almost_ insulting, Dean," she responded dismissively. The waitress' features shifted back to something more androgynous, skin lightening to caramel brown. "Minor skill," with a wave of her hand. "You simply can not comprehend what I fully am."

"But I can understand that you're pretty damn powerful. I mean, you created this mini-me universe just so we could chat."

"Pocket universe, Dean," Sam interrupted.

"Whatever," Dean swiped the air with one hand, the other still clutching the amulet. "God's been pretty much MIA from what I can see. Even the angels think so. If you've got a fraction of the power you're implying, then why don't you fix this….this mess. Avert the apocalypse. Slay the demons. Give those angels upstairs a kick in the ass."

"God is the creator of all things. _Not_ a micro-manager. The universe was set in motion, billions of years ago. To interfere now would be to confound the results."

Dean just stared blankly. "Are you nuts? Confound…" He shook his head. "Is all this…" He swept his arms wide, "All this some kind of _experiment_?"

Sam snorted into his coffee mug, "For cryin' out loud…God's a scientist."

"Mad scientist more like it."

The waitress replied dryly, "Scientists _are_ my favorite humans. The way they always pose questions about the nature of the universe. Pushing, prodding, doubting, inquiring. Posing hypothesis. Proving. Disproving." She rubbed her hands together and smiled with delight. "Curiosity is humanity's most admirable and endearing trait."

"So the ultra-religious folks. All that praying…"

"As far as I'm concerned, actions speak loader than words. Personally, I find what humans do far more interesting than what they say." She gestured with the carafe, silently asking them if they wanted refills. Dean shook his head impatiently. "However, angels, and by extension demons, both thrive on prayer, or the belief of humans. It sustains them. They respond strongly to the entreaties of humans. The creator," She shrugged, "not so much. More hands-off once the ball's rolling. Not affected one way or another. Like I said, things were set in motion eons ago." She mused thoughtfully, "Though sending angels down to Earth thousands of years ago probably skewed humanities perception of the creator. Angels are pretty rigid in their nature. And absolute in their devotion. They may have had the impression that what was good for them was good for humanity."

"_May_ have," Sam snorted quietly.

"So you, or God, is just gonna sit back and wait for the final result of your damn experiment. It's just OK to let billions of people to die!" Dean got up and angrily paced along the counter.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking I am anything resembling human, Dean," She leaned forward and cocked her head. "It is a common mistake among humanity. Even the angelic beings ascribe their own nature to the creator, but I am far from either." Her voice briefly deepened and reverberated, making Dean's back molars hurt. She leaned back, "Calling the multi-billion year evolution of your universe an _experiment_ is profoundly deficient, given the complexity of what's really happening, but for the sake of clarity in our conversation, it's as good a description as anything."

"So, what?" Dean exploded. "Is it fate? We can't do anything to change the final outcome?"

"That's not what I said Dean. All the pieces _have_ been, _are_, or _will_ be set in motion but the outcomes are not _fated_. If the creator already knew the ultimate outcome, then why start the experimentin the first place? Humans were given free will for a reason. It's their unpredictability that will make this all so interesting. Their ability to adapt, evolve is something truly magnificent." Sighing, she continued, "Angels, by default, have no measurable free will. That quality tends to make them static, stagnant. One variable put in place," she murmured absently, "was to consider is how angels react to an exposure to free will and how to give it to them. All at once, too quickly…"

"Don't tell me, you get power-drunk assholes like Lucifer and Michael." Dean slowed his pacing.

"But if exposed to free will slowly, with a trusted human to lead by example…"

"What!" Dean halted his pacing and leaned against the counter. "You're talking about Cas aren't you? One of your frigging variables. You manipulative bitch!" He pushed back from counter and swatted at an empty stool.

Sam got a thoughtful look, "After Cas hoovered up all those souls from purgatory…" He gave Dean a significant look. "Death called Cas not a god, but a mutated angel. That's what was happening to him? He was breaking out of the angelic mold, no longer static, mutating into what? Something else?"

"Mutation?" she mused. "I prefer to consider it more of the evolution of Castiel." The waitress shook her head. "And Dean, it started long before he ingested all those souls. In fact, it started the day Castiel met you, when he dragged you out of hell. After the torture you endured, your soul was damaged. It had begun to fracture. Then Castiel pulled you free and patched you up. Or at least tried to. He had no idea that he missed a splinter. That infinitesimal whiff of your soul slipped into his being that very night." She gave the brothers a small smile. "Did you ever wonder about his growing attachment, his compulsion to be your protector? He was eased into that role by the presence of your soul."

Dean looked disturbed, "So it's my fault."

"Dean. No." Sam shook his head. "You can't blame yourself."

"But without me...what? Changing him? _Influencing_ Cas," Dean snapped and slumped back down on a stool. "Damn it Sam, Castiel would have stayed a normal angel. How many times did he defy heaven to help us? The whole thing with the souls in purgatory…he wouldn't have even been in that position if not for us. Trying to help us. Help _me_."

Sam shook his head, "Dean, how many times did Cas help us beat the bad guys? Geeze, we'd of been dead several times over if he hadn't intervened."

Dean angrily sliced at the air, "Jump to the end game, Sam. What ultimately happened was opening up purgatory and letting the Leviathans loose." He turned and pointed at the waitress, "And whose bright idea was it to bring those monsters into existence in the first place?"

She shrugged. "You couldn't even begin to understand the creator's motivations. Yes, Leviathans are God's creation as well. Their nature is to consume. Whether they could ever transcend their natural disposition was, and is, an interesting question." She shrugged, "Unchecked, their nature will drive them to devour all living things on the planet. When the planet is laid barren, they will turn on each other. Devour each other until there is only one left. They are true driven by survival of the fittest, in the most extreme interpretation."

Dean looked a little sick. "Then help us destroy them," he implored.

"You already have the tools to do so."

"Oh, quit being so vague. You got some kind of non-interference, 'Prime Directive' bullshit rule? You're intervening right now. You're pretty much letting the cat out of the bag…aren't you confounding the final result right now?"

"I'm not sure how much of this you will remember when you return to Earth. Your mind will not be able to retain much…"

"Are you calling me stupid?" retorted Dean. "Don't really appreciate that."

"No. I'm not disparaging you personally. You possess a human brain; a brain that has cognitive limitations." She sighed, "Dean, I'm not interfering as much as just reminding you of something you already know. Your soul strives to be complete. Even missing a tiny splinter leaves a void. Like I said before, like calls to like."

"Wait a minute," Dean's eyes narrowed. "You mean I'm searching for a piece of my missing soul? I gotta tell you, that sounds a little stalker-ish."

"You don't have to search. The splinter's pull towards you is already present. Just give it a good hard yank."

"You're kidding. That's it?" Dean's face was a mixture of disbelief and hope.

She nodded. Dean stared at her for several moments, thinking hard.

"Castiel!" Dean suddenly yelled, slamming one fist down on the counter. He slid off the stool and lean forward, nearly nose to nose with the waitress. "Castiel! Get your feathery ass here!" He grabbed the waitress by a shoulder, "Right now!"

A surge of power/electrifying/pleasure/pain ripped through Dean where he gripped the waitress. He arched back and was flung across the room, hitting the floor and sliding several feet, ending up crashing into another body in a tangle of limbs.

"Holy shit!" Dean gasped, breathless, trying to get his body under control, intense pleasure still pulsing through his body. "What a rush!" he muttered. He blindly grabbed for the body he was tangled with and found himself face to face with, "Cas!" He grabbed the angel by both arms as Castiel started convulsing under him. "Hang on, hang on," he wheezed, trying to pin down the flailing arms. He managed to get one arm behind Cas' head, so he wouldn't smash the back of his head against the floor. He flung his legs over the bucking body. Cas started keening.

"Cas! Cas." Dean murmured. "It's OK." He put his hand on the side of Castiel's face to tilt it towards him. "Look at me, now." Castiel gasped and opened his eyes and stared at Dean with astonishment.

"Dean," came out with a gravelly whisper. "What is happening? Why do I …" His eyes rolled back and he gasped again, arching his back painfully. He grabbed Dean's wrist, the one cradling his face. "How has this happened?" He turned his face, burying it into Dean's palm. He croaked out, "Dean, you have received a blessing from God!"

"Is that what this was?" joked Dean. "It definitely was a major whammy, of the big O variety. I haven't creamed my jeans since, like 9th grade." He patted Castiel's face. "Speaking of which. We need to get you cleaned up, 'cause, well you're a spunky mess and dude. Clothes."

Cas peered owlishly down at himself and dragged fingers along his chest and stomach. "It appears that one of us is leaking." He brought a shaky finger up to his nose and sniffed.

"That would be you Cas." Dean grabbed his wrist, "Cas. Please. I need you to focus right now. Haven't you ever...well…" he muttered, "you know, with this body?" Cas looked up at him puzzled, still twitching. "You know, nocturnal emissions?" At Castiel's baffled look, Dean sighed, "Never mind. I'll explain later. Maybe. For now," Dean pulled Cas up to a sitting position with some difficulty. "Can't you snap your fingers or something and get cleaned off and conjure up some clothes. By the way, it's great to have you back." Cas was still trembling as Dean gave him a one-armed hug and a halfway embarrassed cough. "In case you haven't noticed, you're naked."

"I don't believe I have any powers at this time."

"A little help, maybe?" Dean made gimme motions at the waitress. She reached for the trench coat and tossed it to him. "That's it? Gee thanks. Nothing at all pervey about a naked guy in a trench coat." She shrugged. Dean struggled to stuff Castiel's arms into the coat.

"Dean, you need to tell me how this happened?" Cas grabbed Dean's wrists and stared at the palm of one hand intently. "You've been touched by God. The residue of His blessing is still present."

"Ahh. That's the hand I grabbed our waitress with," Dean nodded. "You've got to be kidding! I've got like, God cooties on me?"

"It's very powerful," Cas murmured as his eyes drifted shut. He buried his face into Dean's palm, nuzzling. A shudder ran through his body as he slumped towards Dean.

"Seriously?" Dean glared at the waitress. "Seriously! I've got angel catnip on my hand now?" He glanced back at Cas as he felt him licked Dean's palm, "Cut it out Cas!" he hissed as he pried his hand out of Cas' grip. He gave the waitress a disbelieving look, "What, I'm gonna give boners to every angel I meet now?" He managed to get his other arm around Cas' back and struggled to pull them both upright. Cas was still unsteady and clumsy. "Cas, just forget about the _blessing_ crap right now." He muttered to himself, "Last thing I need right now is a horny, clueless angel groping me."

Sam snorted, still seated at the counter, clutching his coffee mug, "It _is_ pretty cute." He spun around on his stool to face Dean. "Cas, I mean. He just so…I mean, it's like ramped-up puppy-love. He _has_ been crushing on you for years Dean."

"He has not!"

"Has so."

"Has not!"

"So."

"Ahh!" He cut off Sam's rejoinder, waving a finger in the air. "Could we get back to the issue at hand." He gave Sam a pissy face, "The important issue."

The waitress had come around the counter and was leaning up against a stool. "_You_ touched _me_," she smirked. "Few beings have the audacity."

"Does it, I don't know…wear off or something?"

She shrugged.

He gave her a narrow-eyed look, "Does this 'scent' of yours get this the kinda reaction with every angel? Not just Cas?"

She nodded.

"So they're, like, jonesing for your touch."

"Could explain their almost fanatic devotion," interjected Sam. "The desire to be in the presence of God," he murmured. He continued thoughtfully, "Driven by this…desire…almost like an addiction." Sam spun around on his stool. "Like a combination of powerful aphrodisiac and cocaine. Only for celestial beings."

Dean snorted, "Packs a punch for humans, too." He kept trying to peel Cas off and straighten his trench coat. "Junkies for your touch," he muttered. "That's kinda twisted. What was the point? "

"It is what it is." The waitress shrugged as she came around the counter.

As she spoke, Cas finally became aware of her presence. He peered at her. "What manner of creature are you?"

Surprised, Dean asked him, "What? You can't tell?"

"Not human. Neither angel nor demon. I don't recognize…" Castiel faded out as she approached closer. He held out one hand to stop her and croaked out, "You will not harm this human. Dean Winchester is under my protection." He staggered as he tried to move in front of Dean.

"Cas, you're about as threatening as a newborn baby right now," Dean said, amused, reaching out to steady Cas. "'Sides, she's helping out. I think."

Castiel straighten up clumsily, "Proceed with caution, being," he announced with gravitas, "I am an angel of the Lord."

The waitress peered closely at Castiel, her posture and face jutting forward in a very alien way. Dean felt a shiver of fear for the first time. She responded intensely, "Are you _sure_?"

She held out one hand, reaching for a puzzled Castiel. Her fingertips grazed his forehead, straightening an erratic tuft of hair. He groaned loudly, shuddered and would have fallen if Dean hadn't caught him around his chest.

"Oh my God," he choked out. His knees gave out and he slipped out of Dean's grasp and crumpled to the floor. Cas pressed his forehead on the checkered tile. "Lord, I am not worthy." he gasped, "Not worthy to receive Your blessing," Dean dropped to his knees beside him. Cas whispered hoarsely, "I've done terrible things. Reprehensible things." Dean tightened his arm around Cas' chest, trying to pull him upright.

"Yes. Yes you have," she replied coldly as she continued to peer at him intently.

"My actions are inexcusable. I believed I was a god. I have defied my Lord. You should destroy me."

"No, no, no." Dean interrupted. "No destroying. Nobody's getting hurt here, right?" He glared up at the waitress.

"You experienced free will, Castiel. You've made choices, and now have experienced the regret of those choices. Have you learned? Has this changed you?" She tilted her head to look at Dean, "He came back to you, you and Sam, and asked for help."

"Yeah, that's right. Look, like you said, he's evolving. That's a good thing, right? It's what you wanted." Dean felt himself babbling. "He eventually did the righteous thing. Sent all those souls back to purgatory."

"But Dean," Cas croaked, "I unleashed a terrible plague upon the planet. My actions are unforgivable."

"But you did the right thing, in the end. That's got to count for something." Dean turned Cas' face to look him in the eyes. "I forgive you Cas," he whispered.

Cas stared back at Dean, "I don't deserve your forgiveness," he whispered back.

"Too bad," Dean responded tightly, trying and failing to grin. "I won't take it back."

"Am I still an angel?" Cas looked stricken.

She examined him carefully and hummed. "To. Be. Determined, Castiel." She stepped back abruptly. "We're done," and spun on her heel and strode back to the counter.

"What!" exclaimed Dean. "Now we're done? After dropping bombshells right and left."

"Yes." Her back still to Dean and Cas, her arm came up and she flicked her fingers. Cas shimmered once and vanished.

"No! What did you do to him?" Dean bolted after her but came up short of grabbing her when she whirled around and gave him an icy glare. "You better not have hurt him," his fists clenching, unclenching. "Not after all this…" his voice catching.

"When your paths cross again is entirely up to you, Dean," she replied impersonally. "Time to leave," indicating the door. She moved back behind the counter and faced him, eyeglasses glittering from the overhead lights.

Sam was already at the front door, opening it, "Come on Dean. Let's get out of here while we can," he said urgently. Sunlight streamed through the doorway.

"But…" Dean took a hesitant step towards the door. "I still need some answers."

"We'll figure it out later, Dean. Let's go!" Sam sketched a wave back at the waitress. "Thanks for the grub," and stepped through the doorway.

"Sammy," growled Dean as he bolted through the door after him, and…

…threw himself off his bed and landed with a crash on the floor. Disoriented, he flailed his arms around and knocked over, what sounded like a lamp and telephone. Light blared on and Sam was in the middle of the room in his boxers, gun out, spinning around the room looking for intruders.

"Dean, you OK?" he hissed. "What is it?" He looked up and checked the ceiling.

"Crap!" Dean dragged himself up by the bed and took a quick glance around. They were in a run-down motel. "Sam! Are you OK?"

"_I'm_ fine. You're the one that woke up hollerin'!"

"Where are we?"

Sam dropped his gun but stayed on alert, still glancing around the room. He gave Dean a strange look. "Ypsilanti. Michigan." At Dean's baffled look, he continued. "Ghost sighting in the historic district, remember?"

"Yeah, right." Dean looked panicked. "Cas?"

"Uh, Dean?"

"Cas! Castiel!" Dean yelled.

Sam put his gun down and approached, "Dean. Cas…he's gone, remember?" He gripped Dean's bicep. "Were you having a dream? Nightmare?"

"No, no, no," Dean shook his head vehemently. "No dream. Cas isn't gone."

"Maybe you had some kinda vision," Sam said gently. "Hey, sit down," guiding him to the edge of the bed.

"No, you're the one with the freaky visions. It was real." Dean scrubbed his face. "It has to be real. No dream. No frigging vision. It was real," he insisted. "Cas isn't gone!"

"OK," Sam soothed. "OK. Why don't you tell me?"

"Ahhh, it's already slipping away," frustrated, Dean pounded the mattress with a fist. "I just know it!" He focused on Sam, grabbed his arm. "Wait, you're still here!"

"Where else would I be, Dean?" he responded cautiously.

"Yeah…yeah, you're right," Dean rubbed his forehead. "Yeah. Of course you're here. Look," Dean grabbed Sam by both shoulders. "You do believe that I trust you, right?"

"Sure," he replied slowly, a worried look in his eyes.

"I do. I mean, we all have our demons to fight. In your case, literally," with a painful look. "Sometimes that fight has to be solo. I know that. I may not like it. I may fight you tooth and nail on it." Dean shook Sam by the shoulders. "But, I just want you to know that I trust you to make the right decision on how you take the fight to Lucifer. I just want you to know…not just know, but believe, really believe, that you will never be alone. Never!" Dean grabbed Sam in a tight hug and thumped his back a couple of times. Sam initially taken aback, returned the hug. Dean whispered gruffly in his ear, "Look, I love you Sam, even when I think you're doin' somethin' stupid." Dean pulled back to look Sam in the eye, tightly gripping both forearms, "You need to know that I'll always have your back," he swore. "Always!"

"And I'll always have yours bro," Sam declared. "I love you too," he whispered.

Dean released Sam, sniffed and scrubbed his forearm across his face.

Sam stared at Dean for a few moments, "You OK?" At Dean's short nod, he continued cautiously, "You sure?"

"Yeah. Peachy." Dean sighed, "I'm good. You're good. We're all…" Dean started to look a little sheepish. "Good."

Sam grinned and quipped, "Are you through acting like a 12-year-old girl now?"

Dean lashed out and popped him on the back of the head. "Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not."

"Too!"

"Jerk!"

"Bitch!"

They grinned at each other, relieved at the normalcy. Sam got up and stashed his gun back under his pillow. Dean stared at his hand, clenching and unclenching it. Finally he stopped and rubbed his opposite shoulder.

"You OK?" Sam queried. "Hurt yourself taking out that lamp?"

"Please!" Dean snorted. "I just got something rattling around in the old noggin' and I just can't get to it." He stared back at Sam, "I'm certain, though, that Cas isn't gone. I feel it down to my bones."

"Well, weirder things have happened." Sam looked thoughtful, "He came back before, right?"

"Right." Dean stared thoughtfully into space. "Hey, Sam?" He rubbed his collarbone. "Back when I tossed the amulet. You save it?"

"That was ages ago." Sam stopped digging through his bag and looked at Dean quizzically "Yeah. I did. How did you know?"

"Can I have it back?" Dean asked quietly.

"Sure," Sam went over to his jacket and dug through an inner, zippered pocket. He pulled it out, dangling by the cord. "Is it important?"

"Don't know," as he took it from Sam. He carefully fastened it around his neck. "I just…I just feel better wearing it again." He stared at Sam.

"What? Something you remember?"

"Nah, just wondered if you remember anything."

"Dean, I was asleep." Sam scrunched his face at Dean.

"I mean, dreams or anything. Do you remember what you were dreaming about when I…ahhh…woke you up."

"You mean when you performed that awesome dismount from the mattress." Sam cracked a grin, "I'll give you a 4.0 on technical merit; 6.0 on execution, by the way." Dean rolled his eyes. "Dreaming?" Sam continued. He thought for a moment. "Nah, I don't remember any dreams. Should I?"

"No," Dean's face was creased in thought. "Never mind."

"'Kay," Sam headed towards the bathroom. "Hey, know it's early, but since we're up anyway…" He paused in the doorway and looked back at Dean quizzically. "How 'bout some breakfast?"

Dean nodded back, "Sure. Definitely not gonna be able to get back to sleep."

"Great." Sam returned with a pleased grin. "I'm in the mood for pancakes." He entered the bathroom and tossed over his shoulder as he shut the door, "Banana pancakes!"

Dean rubbed the amulet's stone with one hand. It was cool.

~end~


End file.
